A Lesson in Loyalties
by KCS
Summary: My contribution to bcbdrums's CHAS AU challenge. Hopefully a slightly novel approach...we shall see. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Confound it! How in the world could the alarum have spread so swiftly? I tossed the last document on the inferno and dashed for the open door, Watson panting close at my heels. The cool night air flowed over us, soothing the burning heat of the fire I had just stoked thoroughly with every shred of Milverton's filthy occupation.

But the time spent in finishing the job I had started had perhaps cost us dearly – the entire house was now blazing with light inside and out, and there was no possible way we should be able to make it out the way we came. In my times spent at this house gaining the affections of my fiancée Aggie - _Agatha_, I had not realised just how extensive Milverton's staff really was – men were now everywhere, running and shouting, and the entire house and grounds resembled a veritable angry overturned beehive.

I heard a shout from behind us as we dashed off the verandah, and I began to thread my way through the gardens, yard, and trees without slackening pace, heedless of branches that seemed to snake out from nowhere to slap me in the face – to be caught now would mean ruin not only of our reputations but our lives, for we should be blamed not only for the breaking and entering but also for the murder – execution, rather – of Charles Augustus Milverton. And not even Mycroft's reputation could grant a pardon for something like that.

Watson was lagging behind, due to that bad leg, and I glanced behind us to see at least one man gaining rapidly as we ran for all we were worth toward the edge of the property. Blast!

If I remembered the layout of the place correctly, there should be a wall ahead…though it was rather high in my recollection. I increased my speed, the night air rushing into my quivering lungs, and Watson pounded along behind me, though I could hear his breathing was becoming rather laboured.

Finally, I saw it – a six-foot-high stone edifice. I paused, glanced behind us – they were gaining, far too quickly. We were out of time. I should have thought this through a bit better…now it was too late for regrets or to change things.

I have remarked before on the power of the mind and how quickly a chain of deductions can be made if one's powers are fully alert and attuned to every detail. Mine was no exception here – it took the work of a fractional second to make my decision, to know what might happen and if it did, what needed to be done _now_ to minimize damages in that case.

"Jump!" I hissed, gesturing to the wall, and Watson had no time to argue as a shrill view-halloa sounded behind us along with an order to halt where we were.

He jumped for the wall, gasping as the glass cut his hand, and as I cupped my hands round his feet to boost him over I whispered a last instruction and prayed he would obey against his ridiculously loyal instincts – no sense in both of us getting caught in this web.

"Run! Don't stop, don't wait – get out of here!"

I might be able to explain my presence without Watson here to the Yard and have them believe that he knew naught about the affair, but never in a hundred years would he be able to do the same.

But all this had only taken, as I said, the fraction of a second in my rapid mind. In the next half-second, Watson was over the wall and I heard a crashing of bushes on the other side as I leapt for the glass-strewn coping atop the stones, wincing as a shard pierced my glove and sliced my palm open.

But even for all my swiftness, it appeared I was too late. A strong hand grabbed my boot with a hoarse shout, and I kicked viciously with it and my free foot, catching whoever it was in the chin – but he did not let go, rather yanked solidly on my foot, dragging my bleeding hand further across the glass and embedding it into my palm.

I hung doggedly onto the stones at the top, but suddenly I felt a chill of horror run through me as something cracked and started to shiver – the stone was coming loose! I kicked out again, but this time someone caught my other foot and even I was no match for three men's weight on my legs, pulling me off an already crumbling wall.

We fell in a tangled heap to the ground, and I instantly plowed my fist into one man and my feet into the other. I heard a strangled whooshing noise as the air left the latter man's lungs and a yelp of surprise when the first chap's face bore the brunt of my panic, and for an instant I felt rather satisfied, striking out again at the next man I saw with a well-aimed kick as I scrambled to my feet, elbowing the still-gasping fellow in the side with a sharp jab.

But before I even reached my now-shaking knees, what appeared to be a ten-kilo weight slammed soundly into the back of my head, and the ground suddenly met my face with a sickening, agonising jolt.

_I wonder if Watson got away safely_, was my first thought upon hitting the packed earth and a rather disgusting mess of dead vegetation.

_What am I going to say to Lestrade?_ was my last as whatever it was struck me once more and sent me spiraling into the deep blackness of the night.

* * *

_Hopefully this will be a slightly novel take on this plot bunny. To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

_What a horrible fog I was swimming in...had I been attacked on the streets again?_

"What about the Master, Ned?"

"'E's dead, no way could 'e 'ave lived through that, Miss Aggie. I've neva seen such a mess as tha' room was."

_Oh, no_. No, that was not Watson's voice, neither of them were. That in itself spelled trouble for me.

And worse still, that first, decidedly female, voice was far too familiar.

The pounding in my head increased as I endeavoured to think clearly through the very slowly-dissipating black fog (wait, fog was grey, not black – what had happened?), and I kept my eyes closed, using my other senses to distinguish two people, I believed only two, over my head somewhere. I was lying on something hard and cold – a stone floor, perhaps? I heard a sloshing noise as of water being poured into a pitcher.

"Miss Aggie, leave 'im, the bobbies will be 'ere soon enough to take care of 'im."

"Be that as it may, Ned, he's still been hurt. Roger and Mr. Barrett were dreadfully rough with him."

Roger, the under-gardener, and Barrett, the butler. So that was whom I had tangled with last night…tonight…whenever it was. Blast, now I remembered everything. I was going to be arrested and tried for breaking and entering and, unless I could prove my innocence without dragging that lady's name into the affair, for murder. Wonderful.

_Please don't let Lestrade or Hopkins land this case_ was my first actually conscious thought.

"Well, 'e near broke Jim's nose, 'e did. Don' waste your sympathies on 'im, Miss Aggie. Best get ready for the police to get 'ere."

I heard a dripping sound – water being wrung out of a washcloth, and nearly panicked at the thought that this woman I had so thoroughly deceived was going to be ministering to what I suspected was a rather bad lump on the back of my head, judging from the brilliant pain I could feel radiating from that tender spot. But I remained to all appearances unconscious still, as I tried to decide upon a course of action.

Running for it was not an option – it would be an admission of guilt for one thing, and for another I had no place to run. Going back to Baker Street, even momentarily, would immediately make Watson an accessory to whatever crime they were going to charge me with. Definitely not an option. If I was going to go down in defeat to the official forces at last, I was going to go alone.

Besides, with this infernal headache I was not quite sure I should make it very far without collapsing. What was I going to do?

I had to come up with a story in very, very short order, one that Lestrade or whoever it was that took the case would believe. And despite my tweaking the official forces mercilessly, I would be the first to admit (to myself, never to anyone else) that they were not always as foolish as one would think by looking at them. Even Athelney Jones occasionally had fits of hidden intelligence, though few and far between they might be, and the rest of them had even more frequent bursts of either brain-power or else extraordinarily good luck.

There was no possible way I could convince them that I was guiltless in the affair. I might, however, be able to convince them that I had acted alone…what should I tell them that would keep Watson out of it…

I nearly flinched but stopped myself with a supreme effort when something cold and wet sloshed over my hand. And only then did I remember the glass-strewn wall, realising my palm was aching rather badly. I half-wondered if the glass had cut an artery…no, if so I most likely would be bleeding profusely and Aggie – the _girl_, I hastily corrected myself – was not overly worried about the matter apparently.

She was humming a sweetly simple tune, as she often did while she worked…I shook myself sternly, for the farce was over and I had far more important things to think about. Strange, though, how the tiniest details could spring to mind about the people one spends a good deal of time with. The workings of the brain are rather strange at times.

But then the melody paused, and my hand was turned over with cool gentle fingers. I heard a sharp intake of breath and then a long, very long silence.

What? I resisted the urge to open my eyes, my mind trying desperately to think of what to do. Why was she…Good Lord. No. No, no, _no_. My hand!

Two days ago, I had been 'fixing' the plumbing in the servant's bath and she had been in there with me (I still blushed to think of some of the things that had gone on back there when Mr. Barrett was not around) and my pipe wrench had slipped and cut the back of my hand open.

Aggie – _Agatha_ – had fussed worse than Watson with the cut and consequent bandaging, much to the other servant girls' amusement and teasing – I nearly gave away my conscious state now in smiling at the remembrance of her very red face when she had finished.

But…the gash had not healed yet. And she had seen it, just now, when cleaning the blood off my hand. She knew what my hands looked like – oh, how well she knew!

And, despite my generally low opinion of the fair sex, I knew that this woman I'd deceived into becoming my fiancée was rather sharper than the average of her gender – otherwise even I could not have kept up that act for so long, I should have been sickened and bored to death before a week were out. She was pert, and smart, though I hated to admit the fact even to myself.

And she had just now seen my hand.

"Ned," I heard her familiar voice, and it was calm and cool as a mountain spring; but after spending enough time with her the past fortnight to gain her complete confidence, I had of course learnt her moods and inflections as well as I knew my own.

And there was an edge in her tone that would never be visible to anyone who did not know her as well as I did. She knew.

"Yes, Miss Aggie?"

"Fetch me some more water, and a better light, there's a good lad."

"I think you're wastin' your time, Miss Aggie, but if you really want it –"

"I do."

"Right then. I shan't be but ten minutes – and if'n 'e comes to, holler for Mr. Barrett, all right?"

"Yes, yes, Ned. He's still unconscious, though. Now hop to it, lad."

A door slammed at the other end of the room, reverberating in the stillness, and I kept up the sham of unconsciousness with an ever-increasing effort, for now my mind as well as my heart were racing.

And they seemed to freeze at the icy words that pierced them both.

"Billy Escott. We both know you're no more unconscious than I – now open your eyes and you had better start an awfully good explanation for this!"

* * *

_I took Escott's first name from the BBC Radio version of CHAS, as it's my favourite. No offense meant to **The Master Blackmailer** or ACD Canon fans. _

_To be continued, naturally..._


	3. Chapter 3

I winced, and not from the pain in my head as I shot upright.

"Aggie, oi can explain –" I was lucid enough to use my Cockney workman's voice, but not lucid enough to really think clearly…

My head started to spin, and I hastily put one hand on the floor and the other on the matted hair at the back of my skull, as the figure of my – I winced again at the thought – _fiancée_ stared at me, her pert little features twisted into an puzzledly angry glare.

But as I suddenly, unaccountably, was able to see two of her, and both of her expressions changed at once to concern before blurring together into one.

"Billy? Are you all right, love?"

Blast it, why did she have to sound so _worried_? I am not fond of feeling any emotion whatsoever, for it was so shockingly destructive to logic – but much less the especially uncomfortable one of guilt. And that was very definitely what I was feeling, other than an headache unequalled in my experiences as a consulting detective.

I shook my head to clear it – what a perfectly stupid idea, it felt as if something were loose inside my skull and bouncing around – but finally the double vision subsided and I looked up at the girl I had deceived so well this last fortnight. Her blue eyes were filled with that same worry I had seen after cutting my hand two days ago, confound it. It would be so much easier if she would just look livid.

"Let me see your head," she said gently.

"No, list'n to me," I said desperately, pushing her hand away.

Aggie drew back as if I had struck her, looking rather wounded. Good Lord, if she was hurt over that…what about all the rest?

My head started to spin again, and I leant forward and clutched at the bridge of my nose, trying to quell the rising nausea in the back of my throat. Suddenly I felt the coldness of the wet rag on the back of my head, and to my discredit I allowed it – merely for the sake of restoring my senses, of course.

When she had done my vision had returned to normal, and my brain was very, very slowly starting to function once more. I finally took a deep breath, sat up straighter, and looked at the girl now crouched in front of me.

How I wished that I had never started this entire farce! Or at the very least, practiced the deception upon one of the other, less intelligent, less kind, less trusting servant girls in this man's staff. Aggie was pert and street-smart, a far cry from the silly women of my limited acquaintance who did nothing more than make embroidery and gossip about their fellow ladies all the day. Not beautiful (not that I was any great judge of such matters), but…the word Watson would choose might be…_cute_? Meh. I really had no idea…

And worst of all, she was intelligent and remarkably quick-witted compared to the average creature of her sex – more than quite my match in a battle of wits. This stone floor in the corridor where I was lying was more than likely going to become a battle-ground in a very short time.

"What are you doing here, Billy?" she finally asked, her voice still calm and sweet. "I waited up for you, you said –"

"Aggie, oi can explain everything, oi promise," I started hastily, but she interrupted me with a fierce blue glare. Women and their moods, I never would understand them…

"Never mind, there's no time for that, you bloody idiot! The police will be here soon, and Mr. Barrett's gone for the dog – he and Ned will both be back in less than ten minutes!"

I swallowed hard and looked her in the eye, trying desperately to think of what to do. Ten minutes to talk my way out of a woman's wrath? Not a chance. Finally when she cocked a pert eyebrow pointedly at me, I sighed and spoke, for I had no time for anything but bare, brutal honesty at that point.

Besides, honesty was the least I owed, and could give, her right now.

"I didn't murder your master, Aggie, I swear it."

She started at the change in my voice and sat back on her heels in front of me, the coquettishly flirting manner in her body language fading into an unconscious instinct – one that all servants had when hearing the voice of an upper-class gentleman or lady – of respectfulness and distance.

Why did her unconscious straightening and stiffening herself and her manner bother me so?

"Who – who are you, really?" she whispered.

I rubbed a hand over my eyes, wishing I could vanish into the rainy night or, more preferably, into thin air, but there was nothing else for it now.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes," I said slowly.

She was obviously a _Strand_ devotee (confound you, Watson!), for Aggie's eyes widened into two blue pools, staring at me.

She reached up to trace where my goatee had been in my guise as Escott with a slender finger, and I flinched at the familiar touch. "You – "

I nodded rather miserably. "Yes. I was engaged a fortnight ago by an illustrious client to recover some papers that are a part of your master's…occupation."

Her eyes flashed mirthlessly and she dropped her hand in a clenched fist. "I hated him. He was a horrible master, you know that, Bill –" she stopped, blushed a deep pink. "...Mr. Holmes. We all knew what he was doing, but none of us could stop him, you know what he was like."

I nodded. "And if you had even tried, he would have thrown you out without a place or a recommendation. If you were lucky enough to make it past the dog, that is."

She blushed deeper, to the roots of her soft blonde hair, which was glinting in the light of that flickering candle…I could have slapped myself when I realised I was actually noticing such details. Ridiculous, what a blow to the head could do to a normally logical man.

"Aggie, I didn't kill him," I found myself saying again with even more earnestness – why was it so important to me that she believe me?

For a long moment she looked at me without speaking.

"The gentleman you were with…your friend Dr. Watson, did he kill Mr. Milverton?" she then queried, still looking at me intensely, rather inducing an uneasy squirm.

"No, never."

"But you saw who did, is that right?"

Blast the woman, she was far more intelligent than her station in life demanded. She would have made her mark on some less menial occupation, poor girl.

"I'll not make you an accessory after the fact by telling you that, Aggie," I said firmly, and saw a look of surprise flit across her expressive face. "Suffice it to say…we both know your master had many enemies, and well-deserved ones too. It was just my poor luck that he was killed on the night I had planned to…remove a bit of his livelihood."

"You're in rather a mess, aren't you?" she asked, a faint twinkle coming into her clear eyes.

"With you, or with the police?" I asked ruefully.

"I rather believe you'd have better luck dealing with me than with them, I might be a bit nicer to you," she said playfully, flashing that coy smile at me as she had so many times over the last two weeks.

"I'm not quite certain I'd like to take that chance," I replied with an automatic crooked grin, but then I kicked myself mentally for encouraging the flirtation – for heaven's sake, had it become _habit_ over the last fortnight to do so?

I suddenly heard a commotion in the hall adjoining, and an all-too-familiar voice bellowing ridiculously unnecessary orders to 'secure the house and look for footprints before the rain washes them all away'. _Heaven, please have washed our prints away, please…_

My face must have blanched, for Aggie looked at me quickly.

"Inspector Lestrade," I said nervously, trying to straighten my tie. My mask had fallen off in the fight outside – I prayed Lestrade's men would not be able to find it.

The girl glanced from me to the door, then back to me.

She moved closer to me on the floor, meeting my eyes once more in the same look she had when she had kissed me for the first time…_oh God, don't let her do it again now!_…

But my still-recovering brain barely had time to register her hand as it came up and slapped me – soundly, for she was deucedly strong for a girl – across the face. I was conscious of a pair of incensed blue eyes boring into mine as the pain radiated from my cheek instead of my skull now as I blinked in absolute shock.

"I don't care if you _are_ really a gentleman, I've been wanting to do that for quite a while now," she hissed, breaking into a light little giggle.

I flushed a bright crimson (but I well-deserved the blow), which was a rather good thing as it would cover the red mark on my face from the dear Inspector, and she laughed aloud when I did.

"You really are adorable when you blush, you know that, _Billy_?"

Women, honestly. What a quicksand of emotions! I was rapidly finding it a bit hard to breathe steadily in this corridor…

"Do you really think I thought you were completely what you said you were? You told me a few nights ago that I was the most intelligent woman you'd met in a long time, _Billy_. Among other things you said…" Here she winked dangerously at me, and I found myself blushing deeper. What a perfectly uncomfortable situation!

"And whether you were being your normal flattering self or being sincere, makes no difference – but I'm not a silly child, love, I can tell when a man's said those things before to countless girls," she said with a pert grin, patting my face in that old familiarity that now made me want to shrink away as from a loathsome reptile.

"But I haven't said them to anyone else, I swear – " I protested weakly.

"Mr. Holmes. Are you going to try to get out of this mess on your own, or would you like a bit of help?"

I stared at this extraordinary girl – or was she a woman? – my mouth hanging open rather like a large helpless fish.

"Why would you aid me, after what I've done to you?" I asked finally, completely dumbfounded. There were some things that even my intelligence never could possibly grasp, not if I lived to solve cases at age one hundred.

Those eyes – those bright blue eyes I had looked into so many times over the last two weeks – gleamed with a sudden feline glow, and I gulped down a knot of unease.

"If anyone gets to punish you for what you've done, I'd a deal rather it be _me_ than that rather intolerable Inspector."

Somehow, I believed I would rather take the prison sentence…

* * *

_To be continued..._


	4. Chapter 4

"Do you trust me?"

I seemed to be doing quite a lot of blinking and gaping tonight. Aggie's eyes twinkled mischievously at me as I hesitated to answer the hurried question – Lestrade's ridiculously bellowing voice was growing nearer by the second.

Was this what condemned men felt like, waiting to be sentenced? Though I rather thought that even standing in a dock awaiting a jury's verdict was preferable to being trapped in a corridor with a woman one has wronged.

"Ah, dear me, Mr. Holmes. _'Women are never to be entirely trusted, not even the best of them'_, eh?"

I winced, for that was a palpable hit. I vaguely remembered the phrase from that infernal _Sign of the Four, _when I had been teasing Watson about Miss Morstan. I momentarily contemplated retorting _"I never said you were one of the best,"_ but decided that would be in extremely poor taste. This situation was going to be far too tricky to be distracted by my pride in losing a verbal war of wits with a woman, even this one.

And to top the whole miserable affair off, Lestrade's voice was bouncing off the walls of the corridor now; he would be with us momentarily.

"What are you going to do?" I hissed as she glanced up and then pulled me to my feet, taking advantage of my stumbling disorientation to hold my hand for far longer than was necessary.

"I have no idea, Mr. Holmes," she replied with a pert grin.

"Oh, that is very encouraging."

My ears were ringing loud enough I was surprised to be able to hear ought else, and my head throbbed dully. Under normal circumstances, I should welcome the chance for a pretty conundrum such as this to solve. Under these, I merely moaned, pinching my nose again.

She gave the tinkling laugh she possessed that signified intense amusement, rather than annoyance, and a moment later Lestrade's short figure and bulldog features were in evidence coming down the passage, talking importantly to Barrett, the insufferable butler.

Oh…Barrett might have seen Watson. If he told Lestrade there were two of us…

"Listen, Aggie – whatever happens, I was the only one here tonight, do you understand? I was alone!" I whispered suddenly.

"But if you can't produce a witness to whatever story you'll make up, you'll go to jail, Bill –Mr. Holmes," she said softly.

"Be that as it may, I'll not drag Watson down with me. Promise me you'll leave him out of it, Aggie, it will be hard enough to convince Lestrade against Barrett and Roger," I pleaded as Lestrade drew nearer.

Her eyes softened with something I could not identify had I the time to analyse the emotion, and she nodded, squeezing my hand again and stroking the newly-formed scar there. I yanked it free with a scowl, and she giggled, elbowing me in a manner far too familiar for a lady.

But I heard her whisper "I promise" behind me as I turned reluctantly to greet the most annoying member of the London law enforcement.

"Good evening, Lestrade," I drawled affably, leaning against the stone wall – ostensibly in a casual attitude but more because my head was going to fall from my shoulders had I not done so.

The dear Inspector started violently, staring at me, his jaw dropping to his sloppily knotted necktie – obviously it had been a long day at the Yard and he was not in the least thrilled about being called out even later, from an observation of his scowling countenance and weary steps. And his rather rude language.

"Mr. Holmes! What the bloody –"

"Here now, Inspector, there's a lady present!" my fiancée piped up from behind me with an air of high amusement, giggling once again.

Lestrade flushed and stammered an apology, glancing from me to Aggie to Barrett, who stood behind him looking aloof and irritated, as usual. Finally the official looked back at me, his features drawing together in a bemused puzzle.

"Mr. Holmes, may I ask what you're doing here? I received word that there was a murder done not a half-hour ago – and you made it here before I did?"

I was about to answer, hoping I could fabricate a corroborating story to his ridiculously hasty assumption, but that infernal butler beat me to speaking. My reflexes must really have been dulled by that blow to the head, if that frozen specimen of the London servant populace was more in control than I.

"Inspector, this is the man who murdered Mr. Milverton," Barrett intoned in a sepulchural whisper.

"Blimey, if that man were any colder 'e'd be in a coffin," I heard Aggie mutter behind me, and I very nearly gave the show away by laughing at her impertinent irreverence – one of the things that had made this whole deception more easy for me to perform.

Lestrade stared at Barrett, then at me, and then to my surprise burst out laughing.

"Barrett. You do know who this is? Sherlock Holmes, one of London's unofficial detectives?" the Inspector asked dryly. "I'll admit, he's a bit of a pest to the law and has bent a few of the rules, but never to the extent of murder. You're mad."

"Inspector, I chased him myself from Mr. Milverton's study and caught him at the wall surrounding the estate. Roger, the under-gardener, will corroborate my story, sir," Barrett said with a long icy glare at me.

Lestrade looked at me quizzically as the man continued.

"I was able to incapacitate him, sir, and Aggie here has been keeping an eye on him while he remained unconscious. I sent immediately for you, sir. I trust you will not allow this man to get away with murdering the master, sir?"

Aggie muttered something that sounded rather…crude, as the butler finished his stiff story.

"I am curious as to why you're here, Mr. Holmes," Lestrade said slowly, obviously processing this story. "I'd like an explanation from you before I do anything else."

"Barrett's correct in that he did dent the back of my head with something – a rock, I suppose?" I asked irritably.

Barrett looked down his Cyranic nose at me as if at a repulsive insect on one's teacup. "No, sir, I carry a revolver at all times per Mr. Milverton's orders, sir. I laid it to your skull with enough force to render you unconscious, as you were putting up rather a bit of a struggle."

Lestrade's eyebrows shot upward. "What exactly were you doing here, Mr. Holmes, on a night like this…dressed in solid black? I would deduce you were going to the theatre, but…you're wearing rubber-soled tennis shoes. Do you make a habit of doing that?"

Oh, good Lord. My shoes…I'd completely forgotten. And judging from that bulldog glint in Lestrade's eyes, he very definitely was _not_ going to forget it. Of all the times for the man to actually _apply_ my methods when he normally ignored them pointedly…

"I…well, I…" I trailed off uncertainly with a hard swallow, knowing this was the crux of the matter. I had a split-second decision to make that would turn and choose my fate. What was I to do?

Was I to tell the truth and go to jail for burglary? With Lestrade on my side, I probably could dodge the charge of murder…but there was no way in heaven I would convince him I was not shielding the woman who did. And there was no possible way I could evade the charge of burglary – the tools were still in my coat pockets!

"I'm surprised you're not firmly denying the charge, Mr. Holmes!" The Inspector was grinning with the air of a man who finally views something he has been waiting for years to see.

And another thing…something that made me a bit ill to think of. It had been a very wet night – in all probability both mine _and_ Watson's footprints were clearly visible in the study! Even if the rain had washed the outdoors ones away, which I fervently hoped, both sets probably were still visible on the nap of the carpet by the safe and the curtains.

If I did lie, Lestrade would soon be able to tell from the length of my stride and the limp in Watson's that we both had been in there. Much as I hated to admit it, the man was not as foolish as he looked. Or acted. If I lied, Lestrade would sooner or later guess or deduce the truth. If I told the truth, I had no hope for mercy whatsoever.

In one fell instant, I saw what Watson said he had seen that afternoon in a sickening vision, as he was protesting this very thing to me - the tabloids, the reporters, the scandal, the jail, the trial, the sentence, the inprisonment. The bright career ending in failure and disgrace. My powers being wasted and drained without problems upon which to work in a prison. And Watson's career and life in ruins alongside mine, for I still was not certain I could convince them to keep him out of it.

I felt my face drain slowly of what little colour it still retained as Lestrade's eyes began to glint mercilessly into mine.

"Well, Mr. Holmes. It does seem as if you've gone a bit too far in your burglaring, this time, doesn't it?" Lestrade asked with a malicious smirk. "Unless you can give me a logical explanation for why you're dressed in that manner and why you put up such a fight when Barrett here tackled you, I'm very much afraid you're going to finally be docked for breaking and entering. And perhaps for murder."

* * *

_To be continued..._


	5. Chapter 5

Think…_think_…what was I to do?

I knew from experience that elaborate lying was extremely risky when it was being taken down in evidence, which Lestrade was already contemplating; because one could sometimes not remember what was on record and what was in one's head still. That official notebook was fairly glowing just now in anticipation of this coup for Lestrade – catching red-handed the famous Sherlock Holmes, the country's greatest detective, and getting him three years in prison for burglary – and that was if I could manage to beat the murder charge.

I _could_ lie, and simply hope that I could continue to do it convincingly and stick to my story exactly, but even I had more than one qualm about lying in a court of law.

If it went that far, I really did not want to add perjury to my other crimes. There really was no way out of this situation, not for me. I had gone too far at last.

Lestrade's beady eyes were glinting almost predatorily at me, and I felt a trickle of perspiration roll down my neck and hit my collar, fanning out and wilting the top of it.

This was it, then…I had finally gone too far. Both Lestrade and Watson had told me on more than one occasion that I would someday take on more than I could handle, that I would make a slip. One slip was all it had taken for me to instigate Moriarty's downfall…and now one slip had caused me mine. At least the Professor had had the honour of being taken down by an equally brilliant mind!

_"My dear fellow, be it so. We have shared these rooms for some years; it would be rather amusing if we ended up sharing the same cell."_

For some reason those hasty words rang through my mind as I made a last desperate effort to cogitate some kind of logical thought process that would extricate myself from this predicament. _No_, it most definitely would _not_ be amusing!

Watson…I had to keep him out of this, somehow, some way. He hadn't wanted to come, hadn't wanted _me_ to come, in the first place. But out of his confounded loyalty to me, his worry over my safety, he had taken the risk. If both our footprints were found on that study carpet, then Lestrade would know my story was a complete fabrication…wait.

Wait!

Watson had not gone near the safe, where my footprints were most likely clearest, and the other prints were safely hidden behind the curtains.

If I confessed to the breaking and entering and the burning of the documents right now, in all likelihood Lestrade would stop looking for any more clues. The Inspector was famous (or infamous) not only for his dogged approach to his cases but also for his tendency to stop looking for a more complicated explanation when a simple one slapped him in the face. In fact, the entire Yard was guilty of filling the suspect's vacancy with the most convenient person to hand and refusing to look further unless I tossed the true culprit practically in their laps.

That was the only thing for it, then – I had to confess. And hope that they took pity on me because of Milverton's known unlawful activity and perhaps would lighten the sentence. At least when I went down, I would go alone. I could convince Lestrade that Watson had not been here right enough, as long as I confessed completely.

Oh, Lord, what were the newspapers going to say, though! The headlines, I could see them all…I should never, ever get another case again, even after I left prison. My reputation was now officially and completely ruined.

And Watson…he would have to pick up the pieces, endure the condolences and scandals, talk to the reporters, _visit me in prison_…I could not do this, I just couldn't!

No. I had to. I had to do it – for I refused to allow his honest and thoroughly honourable name to be dragged through the sewage of the London gossip columns along with mine. Rather would I take the sentence, whatever it might be.

I looked Lestrade square in his beady eyes, carefully concealed my nervous quivering, and opened my mouth to accept his accusation and confess to the charge.

"All right, Lestrade," I said in quiet defeat, "I – I was here tonight, I admit it."

I heard Aggie gasp behind me, but my focus was on the Inspector, who was now fairly grinning from ear to ear. I could read no hope of mercy in that triumphant expression; he was already seeing his name attached to this case – one for the annals of criminal history, to be sure.

"I thought so, Mr. Holmes. And what about the good Doctor – did he get away? Barrett?"

"I believe there was another man, sir, but it was raining heavily," the man intoned in a bored voice, "I could not swear to the fact in a court of law, sir."

"_No_," I said hastily, "Watson didn't even know I was leaving Baker Street tonight, I was completely alone. I give you my word, Lestrade, he's entirely innocent."

Hah, _my word_. Aggie was living proof that _my word_ meant nothing, less than nothing. But dear Watson's did, and I refused to allow it to be sullied by my stupidity in this colossal failure of a case. The Lady Eva Brackwell – and the lady who had assumed the position of Milverton's executioner – had certainly better appreciate the dear cost I was paying for their happiness.

"I'm not quite convinced of that, Holmes, but for now I'll settle for having you. Knowing the Doctor, he's far too honest to be able to lie to me and not intelligent enough to come up with a quick cover-story, and I can pick him up in a half-hour or so."

I swallowed a fit of anger at the man's rudeness, and at his underestimation of my friend; but I had no time to think of such trivialities, for Lestrade went on with a short bark of laughing triumph.

"So make it easy on me, Holmes, and tell me what I am charging you with? Safe-cracking, breaking and entering, robbery and arson, assault resisting a citizen's arrest, and…the murder?"

_Was the man going to throw the entire code at me, for the love of heaven?_

"Don't do it, Mr. Holmes," I heard a familiar female whisper breathed into my ear, "we'll think of something, don't confess yet!"

I ignored the Inspector's puzzled glance and turned my back to him, facing the woman I'd wronged so deeply. Bless her, she was still trying to help me, even after all I'd done.

But I had already profoundly wronged one person and also contributed to ruining her future in this case with my actions – I refused to wrong another, and destroy another's future. There was no justice in that, and I had vowed long ago that justice was far more important than law. Watson would go free, if I had to confess to everything…which it looked likely that I should have to do.

"I must," I explained in a hurried whisper, for Lestrade had grown impatient and was now not-very-subtlely fidgeting with a pair of handcuffs. "That's the only way I can leave Watson out of it. You're a smart girl, Aggie, you can see that as well as I."

Her blue eyes gazed softly into mine for a few very long moments before dropping, the resigned motion accompanied by a tiny sigh and her patting my hand.

I turned back to the Inspector and, gulping down the knots of tension that were threatening to choke my breathing, I held out my hands for the derbies he was jangling impatiently in front of me.

* * *

_Eee, this looks bad, doesn't it? Have faith in my predictability, my friends, for I cannot stand a story that does not have a happy ending._

_Or am I really going to break my mold this time? Hmm..._


	6. Chapter 6

"Sherlock Holmes, I arrest you in the Queen's name, and I must warn you that anything you may say will be taken down and used in evidence agains-"

"No! Wait a moment, Inspector!"

"Stay out of this, Aggie!" I hissed from the corner of my mouth, but the Inspector had already latched his parasitic attention onto the girl, and that brief diversion gave me a bare moment to get my head into something resembling one piece, for it was yet spinning dreadfully.

"Inspector, you're totally wrong, and I can prove it!" My fiancée's incensed voice _was_ rather formidable when she wished it to be, and I was not a little pleased that her ire was directed at a different man than I, for the moment at least.

Lestrade gaped for the second time, and Barrett's scowl deepened into a veritable glower.

"He's just trying to protect me and my reputation, Inspector, and I won't have you arresting him for something he didn't do, you hear me?"

I felt my ears start to burn, for her veiled meaning was only too clear. I was not sure the rumour of _this_ was any better than the headlines of my legal conviction for burgling a house…

Lestrade's jaw dropped from necktie to second button, and he spluttered and then looked from the girl to me so rapidly I wondered he did not grow dizzy. Aggie sidled up closer to me and it was all I could do to keep from shying away.

I merely flinched when she took my hand in a gentle clasp, locking her slim fingers with mine.

Lestrade's jaw hit his watch-chain.

"He's protecting my reputation, Inspector, trying to keep me out of the matter – I can prove he wasn't in that study tonight."

Oh heaven, what in _blazes_ was she going to tell that official?

Lestrade nearly swallowed a passing fly before gasping out, "How…can you prove that?"

Aggie winked coyly at the Inspector. "Because he was with me, love, what else?"

My entire face felt as if it were on fire – I doubted if I had any blood left in the rest of my body – and confound it, my embarrassment only added credence to the girl's outrageous story!

Lestrade, bless him, looked as if he were going to faint, and Barrett asked him if he would like a drink. The official wheezed out a fervent affirmative and the butler stalked off towards the kitchen, leaving the three of us alone.

"Mr. Holmes. What – what the –"

"Come now, Inspector, in all your years on the force I'm sure you've seen plenty o' night-time meetings like that, eh?" Aggie asked, impertinently coiling an arm round mine. I stiffened, but thankfully Lestrade did not notice my discomfort.

"Yes – yes but – but _Mr. Holmes_!?"

Blast, I was in this far too deep now and sinking fast – no matter how I felt about the matter, she was trying to save me from a prison sentence. I had to go along with it, it was my last hope; for while I was perfectly willing to go to jail to keep Watson's name out of it, I would much prefer that neither of us ended up there if there was any chance of escaping it.

All right, two could play this rather awkward game of deception, and I was as good an actor as my fiancee.

"Honestly, Lestrade," I sniffed in a very aggrieved tone, "what makes you think I don't enjoy such things as much as any other man?"

Aggie pinched me playfully, and I nearly yelped but bit my tongue for the sake of appearances, vowing never, _never_ again to come within twenty feet of any woman except Mrs. Hudson…and then only with Watson present.

Lestrade's face was regaining some colour, though his sallow complexion was more ashen than anything else at the moment.

"You mean…you really…you were…"

"Lestrade, are you not capable of an extremely elementary deduction?"

"The black clothes…"

"You know what kind of man Milverton really was, Lestrade – do you think I wanted him and his mastiff catching sight of me on the estate? Not to mention it would put Aggie into danger with her employer as well!"

"The shoes…"

"I had to not only sneak _into _Appledore Towers, but also sneak _out_ of Baker Street – you think I really had an overwhelming desire to be teased mercilessly by Watson about my _fiancée_?" I asked pointedly...yes, this might just work…

Aggie shot me a grin, and I realised the fog was finally starting to clear round my brain – I could think, and think clearly, at long last. We might have a chance yet to get out of this.

"But – but the burglary? What were you doing while someone was ransacking the safe and shooting Charles Augustus Milverton?"

"Inspector," Aggie spoke up in a coquettish tone, "do you _really _want to know what we were..._ahem_…doing?"

I felt my face catch fire once again, but this time Lestrade's mirrored it.

"Erm, no…no, ma'am. I - I mean miss. Miss…Aggie, is it?"

"Agatha. Charming name, isn't it, Lestrade?" I drawled, keeping up the embarrassing pretense with rather too much ease, for after the last two weeks such ridiculously romantic words seemed to come perfectly naturally to my memory. It would be probably a month and a half before I could cleanse my brain of this traumatic experience.

"Y-yes, qu-quite," the poor chap stammered, and despite the situation I rather felt sorry for him – all his dreams of catching me in the act of burglary dashed to the ground in this…shocking manner.

Aggie giggled and wrapped an arm round my waist, nearly causing me to give the show away by screaming and squirming away. But I controlled my panic with an effort and after a moment of getting my nerve up to keep up the charade, I did the same.

Honestly, if Lestrade's eyes were to bulge any further from their sockets, I believed he would snap an optic nerve.

"B-but…how did you two…erm…g-get together?" he finished lamely, gulping down the brandy Barrett had brought him in one swallow.

Aggie gently pinched my arm as a signal for me to take the lead in the conversation, which I did, my brain finally whirring at a dizzying rate to make up for the slowness of the last half-hour's hazy murkiness.

"I admit my first intentions in this house were rather covert, Lestrade. You know as well as I what kind of man Milverton was," I said pointedly, calmly, in the same tone I always used to explain my theories to the official forces.

The Yarder nodded eagerly, apparently glad to be returning to more safe grounds of conversation. "Indeed. We've had our eye on him for some time, Mr. Holmes, but never had enough to pin him on. Blackmail, wasn't it?"

"The worst in London," Aggie chirped cheerfully.

Barrett sent her a quite fearsome glare, and I felt her stiffen and shrink against me slightly. Well I knew the workings of this house, and that butler was only slightly less subtlely dangerous than Milverton himself had been. I favoured the fellow with a fiercely warning glare before turning back to Lestrade.

"I gained entrance to the house in the guise of a plumber called Billy Escott," I went on – that much was true at least.

Barrett started ever so slightly, his frown deepening. "I told the master you were no real plumber, Mr. Holmes," he growled.

"Lot of good it did both of you, now did it Barrett?" I snapped, my patience wearing paper-thin after the nerve-wracking evening.

Aggie stiffened and gasped slightly beside me as the butler took a threatening step forward.

"Don't even think about it, Barrett," I drawled boredly, "I've no doubt that Mr. Milverton paid you quite well for your services in keeping his filthy occupation secret. Don't try to play detective with me or you'll be burned quicker than you can scowl."

I heard Aggie's soft giggle as the stolid fellow flushed angrily but visibly bit his tongue to keep from retorting to me. Lestrade was eyeing the butler thoughtfully, but for now dismissed the argument and turned expectantly back to meet my gaze and my explanations.

"Anyway, Lestrade, in the beginning of the affair I merely was keeping up a pretense with this young lady here to gain information about the house and its inner workings, and perhaps to acquire an informant who would be willing to aid me in gathering solid concrete evidence for Milverton's arrest."

"You just…out of the blue sky decided to go after the King of Blackmailers, Mr. Holmes?" Lestrade asked cautiously, cocking an eyebrow at me. "Bored, were you?"

"I had a client," I admitted, "but she has no bearing on this case – as far as she knew, my investigation was proceeding with perfect success; she would have no reason to commit the atrocities that have transpired here tonight."

"Well, that's logical, I suppose," Lestrade mumbled. Then he glanced at Aggie.

"And what about this Escott, miss?" he demanded suddenly. "What were your relations with him?"

"I fell in love with 'im," she said amiably, "an' then found out he was Mr. Holmes here. Simple enough, isn't it, Inspector?"

I was forced to deeply bow to my fiancée – that last statement was true…but just a slight twisting of the truth. She really was far brighter than her station allowed, quick-witted and smarter probably than the man standing facing me, still holding those derbies regretfully.

But intelligent or not, I dearly wished she would stop squeezing my arm like that!

Lestrade glanced back at me, and I swallowed hard and then flashed him a rather silly smile, just for pretences, and the colour drained from his face again. He fumbled for the brandy-bottle and threw back a goodly mouthful before looking back at us.

"So, Mr. Holmes, let me get this straight. You came here tonight, for purely...erm…personal reasons?"

"Sure did," Aggie piped up cheerily, gazing up at me with a cloyingly fond smile.

"And…you were…erm…with the – the lady at the time of the break-in and murder?"

"In my room," Aggie supplied helpfully with a pert grin.

"Never mind, never mind! I was just making certain," Lestrade remonstrated frantically, blushing to the roots of his receding hairline. I doubted that it were scientifically possible for me to turn a darker shade of crimson than I was at the present moment.

"Then who the blazes shot this man?" Lestrade moaned, pocketing the handcuffs – Aggie and I breathed a united sigh of relief – and glancing up as a constable walked in.

"Inspector, we've secured the room if you'd like to see it. It's a nasty business, though, I'm warning you."

"It always is, Cummings, for heaven's sake! Look, Mr. Holmes, I'm still not sure I believe you on this matter, so don't think about leaving here until I get back."

"Oh, I'm sure we'll find _something_ to do while you're gone, Inspector," I called after him slyly, and only part of that foppish silliness was an act – we might just have convinced him!

A moment later the dear man's gorgeously melodious bellowings could be heard fading down the corridor, moaning about 'insufferable amateurs and their romantic liaisons'. Had we really convinced him?

Suddenly Aggie giggled, and before I could stop her, planted a kiss on my cheek.

I stumbled backwards as if she'd slapped me again, gasping as a shiver ran down my spine and wishing to heaven I could get out of this house and away from its occupants, never to return.

"Are all Inspectors so gullible with the shock factor added in?" she asked with a grin, giggling at my reaction to her embarrassing affections.

I scowled and rubbed my cheek vigourously.

"No, just the best of them," I finally replied with a small grin, for actually I could barely be angry with the girl – she probably had just extricated me from a jail cell. As soon as Lestrade was done in that room, then…

That _room!_

"Aggie!"

"What is it?" she demanded worriedly, all teasing manner gone from her stance as she drew closer to me.

"The footprints!" I gasped with the rapid realisation. _Oh, no…_

"What footprints?" the girl demanded swiftly.

"We hid behind the curtains in the study, Aggie," I moaned, "there are sure to be two sets of footprints there. My friend limps slightly, and my stride is overly long. If Lestrade has an ounce of brains in his little head he will see that at once!"

"Why the devil didn't you say something about it before he got here? I could've got rid of them!" she hissed in dismay.

"I was somewhat _unconscious_ for a good bit of that time!" I snapped, my brain in a veritable whirlwind…now what?

"Oh, no…" Aggie slumped against the wall, rubbing her temples. A wisp of her blonde hair came undone from the bun and curled gently round her throat as her pert mouth twisted into a frenetically thoughtful frown…

I kicked myself from those ridiculously silly thoughts back into the present, and to what it meant if that Inspector were to look in the right place at the right time and make the right conclusions on his own for once in his quasi-intelligent lifetime.

Lestrade was extremely suspicious of that wild story as it was. If he were to see those footprints behind the curtains, then Watson and I, and Aggie as well, now that she held my alibi in her hands – all three of us would be rather in more of a mess than if I had simply confessed in the first place!

* * *

_To be continued..._


	7. Chapter 7

I swore softly under my breath, pacing between the walls of the corridor. My footsteps echoed angrily, mockingly, on the stone floor.

"Mr. Holmes!"

"Oh, come off it, Aggie, Escott used far worse words than those and you laughed," I growled, racking my brain for some way, _any way_, out of this predicament. Lestrade would find those footprints in a matter of mere moments now…

"No, you idiot," she retorted impertinently, tugging on my arm, "I've an idea!"

"That's one more than I have. I'm listening."

"Wait here."

"What?"

Waiting about for Lestrade to get his nose close enough to my footprints was _not_ the most stunning idea I'd ever heard, but I did wait, having nowhere else to go anyway. I ever-so-briefly considered escaping while I was still out of custody…I could make the Continental Express in fifteen minutes if I left now and be out of the country before Lestrade could get the alarm out…

Then I firmly quelled the sudden unreasonable rush of panic that threatened to not only make a coward out of me but also to destroy my mental processes. Now was not the time to panic, now was the time to _think_, to find a solution. And to do it quickly.

Not two minutes later I heard Aggie's light footsteps in the corridor; and with them a sound, a low guttural growl that I recognised instantly.

"Aggie, what the –"

She turned the corner with Milverton's enormous mastiff in tow. The massive beast was straining eagerly at the end of its leash and snuffling eagerly along the corridor as Aggie pulled it along and then moved to a position behind me. I edged warily round them, for I well knew what the dog was capable of when not restrained by a member of the household (Milverton had made very certain no one would get at his papers and escape with their lives), but it merely sniffed at my elbow and then licked Aggie's hand.

As she had shut the horrible brute up every night in preparation for our clandestine meetings, the beast was obedient enough to her – but not to anyone else in the house besides Barrett and one of the stable lads. I felt perspiration suddenly bead on my forehead as the dog snorted and gave a low growl, looking at me with eyes that for a moment looked as if they were afire.

"I rather think I do not want to know what this plan of yours involves, Aggie," I gulped warily, remaining a safe distance away from the beast.

"How good are you at running, Billy boy?" my fiancée asked mischievously.

"I – no! No Aggie, wait!"

"You said you trusted me, Mr. Holmes," she tsked wickedly, letting a bit more slack into the giant beast's leash. The hair on the back of my neck began to rise as it shuffled a foot closer to me.

I only with an inhuman effort resisted the urge to yell for help, as that would be thoroughly embarrassing. I should never live the incident down were Lestrade to hear me yelping like a schoolgirl about a dog.

"I – I do trust you, I just don't trust that monster," I finally gasped, cringing against the wall as the brute forced out a low growl at a nudge from that girl. The chill of the stone against my back was not the only thing that sent a shiver down my spine at that moment in the case.

"Well, then!"

"Aggie, wait!"

"Make sure when you start, you head for the study, Mr. Holmes."

"Aggie, please!"

She stopped and looked me squarely in the eye, pulling the mastiff up with her momentarily. "Would you rather be arrested for those footprints? Or perhaps you would rather I told that dear Inspector the _truth_ about tonight, hmm?"

I gulped with difficulty, trying to swallow that lump of tension in my throat and calm my racing heartbeat. "Learned a few blackmailing tricks from Mr. Milverton, Aggie?"

"Mr. Holmes, you know as well as I do that the master was the _King_ of Blackmailers," she replied cheerfully, her blue eyes lighting up with a positively wicked twinkle, "you never know when the skill might come in handy, do you?"

"But I've seen dogs like Carlo break men's bones in half!"

"Then you'd better be fast, hadn't you. I'll even give you a head start, how will that be?"

"Aggie!"

"Better start, Mr. Holmes. Make sure he chases you enough times round the room to destroy any tracks."

_This was_ not _happening…_

"Ready?"

Would I ever be?

I heard her giggle as I whirled to flee down the corridor to the study, and only an instant later a rattling of loosed leash and a girlish shriek split the air and exploded inside my eardrums – my word, that woman had a piercing voice.

"Look out, the dog's loose!" she screeched from behind me, and I had no doubt that the men in the study heard the vociferation as well – I was certain Watson could hear it back in Baker Street.

"Barrett!" I bellowed as I barreled into the study with a growling and snapping mastiff at my heels, "get this dog under control! You know he hates me!"

Lestrade yelped and jumped for a chair as I bolted past him, a snarling, vicious eighty-five pounds of muscle and jaws tearing after me. The dog let out a growled howl that literally shook the glass figurines on the mantelpiece as I dodged its first rush and dashed round the desk. The delicately formed crystal flowers shivered on the edge of the stone for a moment before sailing to the hearthstone with a tinkling smash.

I leapt over the desk and the brute followed me, scattering blood-soaked papers to all corners of the room, making it rather resemble our sitting room in Baker Street after one of my information-hunts.

I heard Lestrade and Barrett both shouting, but whether their calls were directed at me, Carlo, or each other I could not discern. I had a few more important things to consider, this evidence-destroying spree and not getting my legs chewed off by a mad dog being two of them.

I threw a paperweight at dear Carlo, striking his muzzle with a dull thud, but the beast appeared to not even notice, merely snarled and leapt at me, starting up the chase once more. In the melee that followed, I made sure to trample thoroughly in front of the safe as the two of us made a thorough tour of the room, overturned a table and two lamps, bowled over a frightened P.C. Cummings, and knocked several books off the desk onto the bloodied, mangled form of Charles Augustus Milverton.

The blood everywhere (my word, what a dreadful mess!) and the master's scent only served to further infuriate the beast of a dog, and when neither of the other occupants of the room dared go near the monster, I really did begin to fear for my life.

Barrett made a dive for the creature's collar when it refused to stop at his second command, but he missed and crashed into the safe, effectively obscuring any traces that might have remained there. At least one good thing would come from this horrible idea of Aggie's.

I finally leapt over an upset chair and skidded to a halt in front of the curtained window as the dog finally cornered me and lowered its head, dripping jaws snapping, its hackles raised in an angry line.

"Do something!" I shouted to Lestrade, who was now on top of the desk, warily watching the chaos unfold.

"Like what?"

"Shoot it, throw something at it, I don't care _what_, but do something!"

"I can't shoot it, I'll hit you instead!"

Blast that man, could he not fire a revolver with any kind of tolerable accuracy? He was a policeman, for heaven's sake, and by the Yard's standards one of the best! What the blazes…

"Carlo! Stop that!" Aggie's sweet voice fell on my ears, relief shooting through my veins like a drug to calm my palpitating heart. I never would have thought I would feel so perfectly thrilled to hear the voice of any woman in the world as I was to hear hers at that moment.

Carlo snarled in response, snapping at me with a click of steel-strong jaws.

Aggie crept up behind the angry creature and, in one fluid motion, grabbed the mastiff's collar, and immediately I saw the hackles on the dog's neck go down, its ramrod-straight tail relaxing at last. The girl shot me one swift glance, and I barely jerked my head behind me to the window, indicating the correct place. Then I saw her give the beast a nudge, and it lunged for me once more – but this time barking playfully, and dragging the girl along with it – straight into the drapes.

In the bedlam that followed, Aggie and Carlo managed to very effectively trample every square inch of the carpet under the curtains and in front of them, and for good measure I 'accidentally' slipped the catch on the window to let a swift but damaging deluge of muddy rain from the gutter outside splatter all over the area in question.

Finally Barrett regained his feet with an intensely annoyed scowl and, walking over to Aggie and that brute of a dog, roughly pushed her aside with a curt order and took the beast's collar. She stumbled away from the man with a frightened gaze, nearly falling to the floor under the force of his ungentlemanly shove.

For some reason, that fact made me extraordinarily angry.

"Touch her again, Barrett, and I'll drop-kick you into that fireplace, are we clear on that point?" I found myself asking, quite calmly, and offering my hand to the girl without even realising what I was doing – what _was_ I doing?

Aggie's eyes went wider than I'd ever seen them as she accepted the gesture, regaining her equilibrium, and Lestrade (once he had climbed down rather gracelessly from the desk) was suitably surprised as well at my ridiculously precipitate actions.

Barrett glared dangerously at me, and his shifty eyes suddenly gleamed and darted to the dog's collar in his hands.

"I wouldn't, Barrett," the Inspector said coolly, patting his hip-pocket in a direct warning.

Aggie had stayed far too uncomfortably close to me and was now once again hanging on my arm, confound it. I carefully resisted the panicked urge to shake her off, knowing that the farce had to be continued for Lestrade's sake.

"This beast is Milverton's then?" the man asked with a dismal sigh, surveying the remnants of what had been a perfectly preserved crime scene.

"Indeed. You see why I did not want to be seen tonight, Lestrade?"

"Quite. Confound it, Barrett, why wasn't this brute locked up, if he's such a murderous beast? He's just destroyed an entire crime scene! Do you know how serious a matter that is?!"

"He was tied out front, sir," the butler replied stiffly. "I have no idea how he got loose, sir."

"All I know is, we were in the corridor talking…among other things…" Aggie said with a wink, patting my arm affectionately, "when he came bounding in and took straight off after Mr. Holmes. He hates him, Inspector – I've had to lock him up every night when Mr. Holmes wants to...call on me."

"Nasty beast," Lestrade actually made a perfect deduction for once in his life – I must remember this noteworthy occasion for posterity. "Barrett, take him somewhere and _lock him up this time_. Cummings, go with him and make sure the beast _stays_ that way."

Barrett favoured all three of us with his trademark scowl, but his murderously smouldering gaze lingered upon me for a long moment before he stalked off with the monster and a rather uneasy Constable Cummings.

Lestrade's sharp beady eyes watched them leave and then turned slowly to face the two of us. Aggie's hold on my arm suddenly tightened, and she was obviously very nervous, for I could feel her trembling through the touch, light as it was.

And much as I would die rather than admit to the absurd weakness, I too was rather uneasy in my mind – for not only had we just lied outright to the official forces of law and order, we had just destroyed evidence. If Lestrade ever found out or guessed what we had done…I dared not think of the possibility.

"I'm still not sure I believe you and this extremely far-fetched tale, Holmes," the official said pensively, tapping a finger against his lips in some apparently deep-thinking processes. No doubt the effort was staggering.

"Inspector, it has been a rather long and, for me, a particularly painful evening," I sighed, rubbing my head very gingerly – yes, I did have a good-sized lump. "May I go home now? I am sure we can all discuss this semi-intelligently in the morning, can we not?"

Lestrade's beady eyes suddenly gleamed with an unexpectedly rapid idea. _Wonderful_. I could scarcely wait to see what that magnificent intelligence had concocted now.

"I really don't believe this fantastic story you've invented, Holmes, but there's one sure way to decide if you're telling the truth or not."

I swallowed round my unease, for the Inspector's ferret features were now twisted into a grin that threatened to split his head in two. Absently I wondered what he would look like in that eventuality, and if it would be an improvement upon his present state…

"What's that, Inspector?" Aggie asked faintly.

"I have to have a press conference about this affair, of course, for Milverton was a big man in some circles; once wind of the gruesome murder details gets out every paper in the city will be crawling about wanting a story. And if I can't tell the world that Sherlock Holmes was finally caught as a burglar, then I believe I'll tell them that Sherlock Holmes is getting married. How does that strike you, Mr. Holmes?"

* * *

_Married? Dear me...devious little Inspector, isn't he? To be continued..._


	8. Chapter 8

How did it strike me? _How did it strike me??_

I recognised through the haze of dread that had just clouded up to obscure my common sense that I was teetering rather on the verge of frenzied panic. I forced a laugh through my twitching lips, and was startled to hear that it was at least six or seven tones above my normal pitch.

"You must be joking, Lestrade…Lestrade?"

The infernal scoundrel had merely raised an eyebrow at me as I tried again to laugh, only succeeding in sounding pathetically hysterical.

"You…aren't joking?" I ended feebly.

"Should I be, Mr. Holmes?"

"Well…I mean…that is…" I gulped and nudged Aggie. _Help me, for the love of heaven!_

"Well, you see, Inspector, we wanted to keep it quiet – the publicity, you know," she offered hastily with a patently nervous giggle.

"But why?" the official asked slyly. "One would think after so many years of self-professed bachelourhood, Mr. Holmes would be _thrilled_ to tell the world that he's tying the knot at last."

I winced at the sordidly romantic phrase, feeling quite ill at the mere thought of…my _marrying?!_

I have never been much of a praying man, and at that moment I was sincerely regretful – because, had I been more in the habit, perhaps the Providence I had usually ignored would have seen fit to answer my plea for the floor to open up and swallow me. Or better yet to swallow Lestrade. Or strike him with lightning, or any other of a hundred eventualities that were far more appealing to my panicking mind than that press conference.

"Erm, Inspector –"

"What's the matter, Mr. Holmes? Not getting cold feet, are you?" Lestrade asked with a sly smile, "or…are you perhaps not telling me all of what happened here tonight?"

Oh, good Lord. Of all the times for that man to actually _use_ his infinitesimal brain, he had to do it in _this_ case instead of one of the ones he usually brought to my door in a shambled mess, expecting me to pick up the pieces.

"You're awfully quiet, Mr. Holmes…"

"Lestrade, you can't give this information to the papers," I said desperately, my mind whirling in a thousand different directions and not focused on any one of them.

This was _precisely _why I never encouraged emotional displays of _any_ kind, they held the power to drive one into a _blind panic_, and totally distort _every_ mental power that one possessed…and I suddenly realised I was coming dangerously close to losing control of my calm demeanour, judging from the increasing intensity of my thoughts. Back to the present, and _think_, I had to think…

"Whyever not? All London will celebrate with you, Mr. Holmes!"

I cringed. "Because…as Aggie said, we – we wanted to keep it very quiet."

"Indeed. Perhaps _so_ quiet that one would never know it happened, eh? Or rather, that one _would_ know that _it_ _never _did_ happen_?"

Aggie's grip on my arm tightened at the words, for we both were in a serious dilemma now. He suspected, I _knew_ he suspected. And he was testing me…_us_, for she was in it as much as I now.

He had absolutely no proof that I had been here tonight for any illegal purposes, none at all – that I knew of. I tried to think of anything he could get that would incriminate me or Watson, and I could only think of my mask, lost somewhere, perhaps a few footprints that the rain had not driven away. Purely circumstantial evidence, and it would never hold up in a court of law – and we both knew it.

But we also knew that it only took one newspaper account to create a scandal, true or untrue. I could confess, and were he to take me in for the burglary, he would have no case and I would be released; but both my reputation, probably Watson's, and – worst of all – Aggie's would be ruined. Hers was the most terrible part of the matter, for no one would want to take on a servant girl who had been accused of concealing or destroying murder evidence from the police. This was not in the least bit fair to her.

Constable Cummings re-entered the room, _sans_ irate butler and murderous Carlo, and for a moment Lestrade's attention was diverted to his man as he questioned what had been done with both beasts.

"Aggie, you know what this –"

"Don't you even _think_ about confessing to the breaking and entering – we both know he has no real proof!" she hissed.

"But he's going to tell the papers something – if the burglary, at least you won't be involved, I can convince him I forced you to lie for me. We can't announce that – that – "

"We're engaged?" she finished pertly.

I winced. "This is not a joking matter, Aggie! No, we can't – neither of us can afford that kind of scandal when it gets broken off; you'd never get another place in London after an affair like that. If word got out and then we _didn't_ get married, your reputation would be ruined."

"And your reputation wouldn't be any better," she said softly. "But you can't confess, because that will bring your friend into it – the Inspector'll know he'd never let you come here by yourself."

There really was no way out of this, was there? Not for any of us, it seemed.

Lestrade turned a pair of triumphant eyes back to me and the girl. "Well, Holmes. I wish you both every happiness, and you're free to go. Unless there's something you'd like to tell me? …No? Then I would ask you both to be present at the conference tomorrow at ten. Until then –"

"Wait, Lestrade," I said desperately, thinking fast. "You can't do this."

"Oh? Why not, Mr. Holmes?"

"Because – well – _please_, Lestrade, don't tell the papers this?"

I hated, loathed, _despised_ myself a thousand times over for pleading with the man, but it had to be done – for Aggie and Watson's sake, as one way or the other they were going to be involved in this.

Lestrade's eyes gleamed with a rapacious sheen. "I thought as much. As I see it, either you are going to marry this girl for real, or you are using her to cover up something, Mr. Holmes. And I'm very much leaning toward the latter theory."

"I am _not_ covering up anything, I just don't want this getting out!" I protested desperately.

"Oh, I'm quite sure you don't," he said with a smirk.

What was I going to do? I could not confess, but I could not let him announce that I was marrying this girl and then have the marriage not take place – the scandal would be immense!

I gulped and felt Aggie's nervous hand trembling on my arm, her slim fingers ice-cold.

If I confessed to the burglary, I risked dragging Watson into the matter, for Lestrade probably would not take my word for it that I had been alone. And even if I could convince the Inspector of Watson's innocence, he very well might incriminate himself unknowingly and my efforts would likely be moot. Even if Lestrade did believe me, Watson's reputation still would probably be in no better condition than mine, and he would have to deal with the press and everyone else.

But if I let the official go through with announcing to the world that I was engaged, then when I broke it off (for nothing in the world could induce me to actually marry her, scandal or no!) the girl would have nowhere to turn and her reputation would be ruined.

I did not like choosing between the two alternatives at all...there _was_ no good choice, I could not win either way. And I had no more time now to ponder the matter, as Lestrade was tapping his foot impatiently, waiting for my answer.

I refused to drag Watson into the affair – if there was even a chance that I could convince Lestrade of his innocence, then that was what I had to do. My loyalties lay more in that direction, and I could not act otherwise. _Forgive me, Aggie._

I took a deep breath and carefully avoided looking at the woman I was going to wrong yet again.

"All right, Lestrade. We'll see you at ten tomorrow."

Lestrade's beady eyes bulged, and Aggie gasped faintly. "You – you're _agreeing_ to it?" the man stammered.

His complete shocked surprise startled me but also ignited a very faint spark of what I recognised now, after such a long absence of said spark, to be hope. A glimmer of hope…

Perhaps…perhaps he had been bluffing, to test me…just perhaps…I repressed a wide grin with difficulty. We would soon find out; and if I were correct, then I might get us _all_ out of this mess and not have to choose between protecting the girl or protecting my dear friend.

"Of course," I said breezily, glancing down at my fiancée and gently closing her dropped jaw with a finger, "why should we be ashamed of it, Aggie? The more people who know, the better, I say!"

She swallowed and gave a nervous giggle. "S-sure thing! Why not? What does one wear to a press conference, Inspector?"

Lestrade spluttered like a leaking steam engine for a moment and blushed to his earlobes. "Well, erm, I – really don't know –"

"Oh, darling, I'm so excited!"

Aggie gave a horridly girlish shriek and before I could back away had thrown her arms round me and planted a kiss solidly…on my _lips_! The nerve of that woman! I tried to back away, this new panic far outweighing that of the Inspector's finding out the truth, but she held fast like a female leech. I shuddered and tried to break the clinch.

Thankfully, the length of her affections negated my having to move my mouth to respond, however, so by the time she released me I had found my voice again, though I was once more bordering on panic – from two different quarters this time.

However, at the sight of Lestrade's magenta countenance and the constable's barely repressed sniggering, I managed to pull the blood from my face into my brain and think. Clearly, logically, and calmly. I _was _going to pull this performance off; I _could_ do it and I _would_.

"All right, Lestrade, shall we see you at ten?" I asked serenely, wrapping an arm gingerly round Aggie's slim waist, as warily as if I were touching a starving tigress.

"Erm, well…"

Hah, it _had_ been a test. And I had very nearly failed it – thank heaven I had bluffed my way through it this time. How thoroughly humiliating it would have been to lose a battle of bluff with a _Yarder_…oh heaven. I should never ever live that down – thank goodness Watson had not been here to see my near-defeat.

"By the Lord Harry, Holmes, I do believe you're serious about this!" the official finally spluttered.

Aggie sniffed disdainfully. "Can't we leave now, love?" she cooed, rubbing a hand along my arm. I flinched, and she poked me playfully with a small giggle.

"Not in front of the Inspector, Aggie!" I hissed for Lestrade's benefit.

As the little Yarder's face turned an interesting shade of purple, I grinned broadly at his distress – it was about time someone besides myself grew uncomfortable with this entire ludicrous situation. But just as I was growing complacently confident, believing we had won, P.C. Cummings spoke up.

"Beggin' your pardon, Inspector, but we found this near the wall where Mr. Holmes here was caught by that butler bloke. Here it is."

I stiffened as I saw the item in question – a gold cufflink with brushed silver edging – _and it had been on Watson's sleeve tonight_. Aggie instantly shot me a worried look as Lestrade took the item and scrutinised it, cleaning the remaining mud off it and holding it up to his eyes.

"Put out your hands, Holmes," he ordered peremptorily, turning to me. I calmly extended my sleeves (resisting the urge to 'put out' my hands straight into his face) and he inspected them, his face twisting into a convoluted scowl as he saw that both my cuffs were, though filthy, intact. As were my cufflinks – and a totally different design.

I had expected him to be furious about his clue fizzling out into nothingness, but to my dismay, and growing agitation, his scowl faded into a very thoughtful repose. Lestrade, thinking at all, was dangerous – and thinking that obviously hard…was deadly.

"Interesting," he muttered at last, looking sharply at me, "I wonder, Mr. Holmes."

"Wonder what, Lestrade?"

"I wonder…I've seen the good Doctor wear a set of cufflinks identical to this one; he wore them the last time we called him in to perform a post-mortem on that Brandenson fellow last February. Would you happen to know if both his cufflinks are still in his possession?"

"I do not make a habit of doing inventory on my fellow-lodger's clothing, Lestrade," I responded dryly, "I do have a few other important things in life besides memorising his collection of accessories."

My words were calm and (surprisingly) without any tremour or emotion whatsoever, though I was very rapidly growing ill with this train of thought.

The glass atop the wall outside…Watson's hand had jerked back in pain when he'd been cut by it, and the cufflink must have fallen off in the ensuing confusion. Both of us had been given a set of cufflinks like those as Christmas gifts from a former wealthy client last year, and I had no doubt that the one in Lestrade's claws was Watson's.

My first instinct was to want to kick the man from here to Euston Station for his carelessness, but instantly I quashed that first unreasonable urge – what was I thinking? It was not my poor friend's fault; it was mine and mine alone for instigating this farce in the first place. Blast.

"Cummings, is the carriage still outside?"

"Yes, 'tis, Inspector."

"Secure the premises," Lestrade directed the constable, darting a wicked smirk at me.

I felt the blood slowly seep from my face as he continued in a slyly triumphant tone, thrusting my friend's cufflink into his inner jacket pocket.

"Cummings, I'll return as soon as we three have paid a little visit to Baker Street. And if we find what I think we will, then I'll gladly exchange a press conference for _three arrests_, Mr. Holmes."

* * *

_Well, you all have been wondering what the devil happened to Watson, haven't you? To be continued..._


	9. Chapter 9

_Please have gone back to Baker Street, please have gone back to Baker Street, please have gone back to Baker Street…_

I chanted the mantra in my mind over and over in that cab ride back to my residence – that ride which both seemed simultaneously eternally long and yet only momentary – some odd part of my mentality seeming to think that if I whispered it enough times, Watson would somehow hear me and obey.

Aggie sat beside me in the cab, her fingers interlocked with mine and twitching erratically, but I scarcely noticed for my mind was very definitely elsewhere. I did not even know if Watson had gone back to Baker Street (knowing him, he probably was still waiting for me on the other side of that wall!) – and if he had, would he notice one of his cufflinks was missing? Would he think to clean his boots of that reddish mud that we'd tramped through in Milverton's gardens, get rid of his waterlogged clothing, destroy the mask he'd worn? Confer with Mrs. Hudson for an alibi?

So many things could and would go wrong if he had forgotten some detail, for either Lestrade was bluffing me again with the cufflink (which was possible, though I wondered at the man's ingenuity if so) or else his observation and memory retention were showing marked improvement since the last time I had lectured him about the fact (which was hardly more likely than the first alternative).

But either way, everything depended upon Watson and his ability to think quickly now. I confess, to my shame, that the thought was not very comforting to me at the time.

Aggie's fingers were icy cold, nearly numbing my hand, and mine were no better by the time we left Oxford Street, for I was growing increasingly more nervous the closer we got to Baker Street. Lestrade sat morosely confident across the seat from us until we reached the flat, and then he hopped down – with an enormous splash, straight into a four-inch-deep puddle. _Let the night's entertainment, Act Two, begin._

Aggie giggled nervously as he swore at the offending murky water before she threw me a worried glance and hopped lightly down after him. I followed suit, glancing up at the windows of 221B's sitting room. Hah, at least the lights were off – for it was now well after one in the morning.

Lestrade was about to ring the bell when I dangled my latch-key in front of his nose with a smirk that belied my growing unease. He flushed and snatched it from me (very nearly taking my index finger off in the process), opened the door and barged into the house, making enough of a racket to wake the dead.

Or at least to wake a very livid landlady. Mrs. Hudson came bustling out from her rooms in her wrapper, her hair in a long braid down her back and a very angry look which she now directed at the unsuspecting Yarder (she did not look particularly sleepy, and I was relieved that she used her ire to distract the man from that suggestive fact).

"Mr. Lestrade! What in heaven's name do you think you are doing breaking in here in the middle of a night like this?!" she demanded with a glare that could have frozen the rain outside into so many hailstones.

"Mrs. Hudson, I am sorry to awaken you but –"

"Sorry? Sorry! What – why, Mr. Holmes, I thought you'd gone to bed hours ago!" the woman exclaimed suddenly, seeing me behind the cringing official.

"Erm, not exactly, Mrs. Hudson…" I began, but Lestrade interrupted me.

"Mrs. Hudson, I must see the Doctor at once," he snapped importantly.

"He's asleep, you can see him tomorrow."

"Mrs. Hudson," I explained rapidly, hoping that she would take her cues from my words, "he _does_ have to see him now – the man wants to arrest me and Watson for a burglary charge when only I was out of the flat tonight for personal reasons and Watson wasn't out at all –"

"Don't prompt her, Holmes!" Lestrade nearly shouted, "Now where's the Doctor?"

"In his room, of course," the good woman sniffed angrily, "asleep as all decent citizens should be at this hour of the morning – that is, he's asleep if he hasn't heard your incessant blathering by now!"

Aggie giggled at the good woman's words, and more so at Lestrade's not daring to make any kind of comeback to the furious tirade, and I shot Mrs. Hudson an extremely relieved look. I should have to remember to not blow up anything in the sitting room for at least four days after this as a measure of gratitude to the dear lady.

Lestrade moved toward the steps with a muttered growl, and Aggie hesitated and then followed – but I suddenly remembered. My coat – the burglary tools were in my overcoat pockets! If that man took it into his little head to perform a search and seizure of my person…

However, either the estimable woman or Watson had already thought of that fact, for Mrs. Hudson nearly yanked the article of clothing off my back with alacrity, disappearing with a wink into her own quarters with it – no doubt to remove the tools before she hung it in the hall. That was one item taken care of, at least. Now all I had to worry about was Watson's acting job – for no way in the world could he possibly have _really_ fallen asleep after such a night.

Lestrade was already halfway up the steps when, to my absolute and utter astonishment, Watson came stumbling blearily out of his bedroom and down the steps, rubbing his eyes and blinking at us in the soft hall light, clad in dressing gown and slippers over his night clothes, and looking for all the world as if he'd been fast asleep for hours – his hair was even mussed as it always was once he began to sleep deeply and move about while he dreamt!

_What the blazes…_

Watson kneaded his eyes and then blinked owlishly at us once again, looking half-out on his feet – how in the world was he performing like that?

"Inspector? Wha…" he stopped to yawn, his voice slurred with sleep, "…what're you doing here at this hour? I didn' hear the bell ring…"

I could scarcely believe my ears, I _couldn't possibly_ believe them! I have the greatest of respects and regards for my dear Watson as a friend, a comrade, and a soldier, but I am also a truthful man and as such I know for a proven (far too often proven) fact he cannot dissimulate to save his life, quite literally. He is far too honest a man to be able to lie convincingly – but here he was, for all appearances still legitimately half-asleep, when not two hours ago he was tearing through Charles Augustus Milverton's gardens with me.

If this were an act, why in heaven's name had his talent been hidden from me for so long?

Lestrade was rather taken aback by this development (as I was!), but he soon recovered and jumped up to meet him on the landing, bellowing so loudly that Watson winced, rubbing his head.

"Does this belong to you, Doctor?" the official demanded, holding up the cufflink.

Watson squinted at the object, rubbing his eyes sleepily. "I have a pair like it, I think, somewhere…why?"

He glanced over Lestrade's shoulder, seeing me for the first time. "Holmes! What on earth – I thought you went to bed hours ago, where the devil have you been?"

"Doctor, where is your set of cufflinks like this?" Lestrade demanded, glaring at me in a pointed warning to keep my mouth shut.

Watson yawned again, rubbing his head once more. "On my dressing table, I suppose…I wore them a few days ago, I think."

"Produce them."

"What?" he blinked.

"You'd better fetch them, old fellow," I said quietly.

His eyes darted to me for only a fraction of an instant, and I caught the barest hint of a quite proud twinkle in their sleepy depths before he turned and limped up the steps to his bedroom, returning to us in a few moments with something jingling in his hand with each step.

"Here," he yawned, handing the items over to Lestrade.

The official's eyes bugged once more as my friend dropped a complete set of cufflinks into his outstretched hand, his face absolutely devoid of anything but a semi-comatose drowsiness.

I could have shouted with glee. _Bravo, my dear Watson_! He had gone into my bedroom and retrieved my identical set (however he even found them in that combination zoo and asylum of criminal relics is a mystery I shall never solve) in anticipation of this very situation. I was extremely proud of my dear friend at that moment.

Lestrade, however, was livid at the idea that his wonderful little clue (circumstantial though it was) had petered out. "Where have you been tonight, Doctor?" he demanded sharply.

Watson blinked blearily. "In bed, other than ten minutes when I ran down to the stationer's for more ink."

"Your boots in the hall were not wet." My word, the man really _was_ learning to observe. I nearly fell into cardiac arrest at the mere thought of an official turned loose on the London criminal populace, actually _deducing_ instead of blundering about the city's alleys. No one would be safe now.

"I took a cab, Lestrade," Watson responded boredly, "it _was_ pouring down rain, you know, and this confounded leg of mine won't bear up more than a bit of a walk in that weather."

"Can you prove that?"

"That I can't walk far in this weather?"

"No, no, no, your story!"

I grinned outright at the man's exasperation and Watson's pawky put-on slowness.

"Yes, I can," the Doctor sighed. "Mrs. Hudson will tell you I was here all night except for the ten minutes –"

"That's no alibi, that woman would do anything for you! What about the cab driver?"

"Do you _really_ think I ask the name and number of every hansom I engage, Lestrade?" Watson asked in irritation. The official scowled blackly, and my friend sighed tolerantly and continued.

"The stationer's will tell you I was in there this evening, Inspector, if you feel that you _must_ check my story."

That was an outright lie and we both knew it, but I dared not show any expression – if Watson wanted to bluff his way through this then I would be more than happy to step back and allow him free rein – heaven could see that he was doing a magnificent job of play-acting as it was.

Lestrade's glare began to melt and peel the wallpaper off the stairwell, and my friend sighed and ran a hand through his hair, mussing it even further so that he looked a bit comical standing there glaring sleepily at the Inspector.

"Lestrade, what the devil's going on?" he asked wearily, sinking down on the steps, "why are you here with Holmes, and who is that lady hiding behind both of you?"

"Never mind, Doctor," the man forced through teeth clenched so hard I wondered if they might remain that way...that would actually be rather entertaining…

For a long, long few minutes (during which I held my breath indeterminably and thought I should faint because of it) the ferret-faced detective scrutinised every detail of Watson's disheveled, genuinely sleepy appearance, from head to foot and back, looking for something out of place.

I felt perspiration beading on my neck as the man continued his scrutiny, and could only pray that he found nothing more to corroborate his suspicions – for only if he could find nothing that struck him as odd would he then completely drop us out of the case.

Behind me, the clock struck a quarter after one, but other than that no sound could be heard save the steady ticking of the seconds and the blustering of the rain outside, as we all remained motionless, waiting for Lestrade's verdict.

* * *

_To be concluded, at long last..._


	10. Chapter 10

_Yes, I know this is quite a bit longer than the other chapters, but there really was no good location or reason to split it into two. So anyway, here's the conclusion. And yes, the title did change, simply because I wanted the alliteration. :)_

* * *

"Well, I suppose I have to say it was just a misunderstanding. My apologies, gentlemen, I was wrong in accusing you, but you have to admit that the conclusion was a logical one."

_The truth always is,_ I thought with some amusement...I recognised the odd humour as a verging hysterical relief and firmly tamped down on the feeling before it manifested itself in something I should regret in the morning.

"You were doing your duty, Lestrade," I offered helpfully, trying desperately not to grin outright at his disconcertedness, but the official merely looked at me rather bitterly.

"Besides, Lestrade, if I were going to murder a man, I would dare wager that I could do it in a manner far less likely to get me apprehended than this person did," I pointed out, "and would choose a better location for the deed than his own house when clearly the household is within call and still awake."

The man blinked, and I could fairly see the slow gears beginning to grind together in his head. "That's true – and I don't suppose you'd need to kill the man with six shots, either; both of you gents are crack marksmen, much as I hate to admit it."

I nodded eagerly, but Watson blinked as if just now processing the first part of the man's statement. "Killed _whom_, Inspector?"

I resisted the impulsive urge to clap him on the back for his perfect timing and absolutely flawless surprise at the news of the murder. Hidden fires indeed…

"Never mind, Doctor, let your friend do all the explaining – he's had enough practice in it by now after the stories he's told me tonight!" the official spat with more venom than humour.

"Lestrade, honestly, it's been an extremely long night and I think we all could do with a good sleep," I ventured a bit nervously, wondering if the man were really going to swallow the magnificently elaborate prevarication the three of us had concocted.

The Inspector glared at me for a moment before his face melted into a doleful puddle. "What am I going to do now about the crime?" he nearly whined, leaning against the wall and planting his face in his hand with a low moan.

"If it were I, Lestrade, I should check on Barrett's whereabouts at the time of the murder," I offered slyly, "you saw the way he was eyeing all of us. And who better to have contact with the master than the trusted butler? You heard yourself, Lestrade, that he carries a revolver at all times – how is it that he didn't shoot at the killer if he was quick enough to catch me running after I heard the murder shots?"

Aggie gasped softly, but I shot her a reassuring look behind Lestrade's suddenly alert features – he was obviously more than a little intrigued by this colossal red herring's possibilities.

But not even Lestrade's bungling efforts could concoct enough false evidence to actually convict the butler for the murder (though that really would not have bothered me, as I knew for a fact that Barrett was privy to his master's daily occupations), but this suspicion would at least keep the official engaged for a while.

And, I thought with some satisfaction, this would also be a rather neat revenge from me upon that odious man. I would be sure to attend the inquest, just to smile most amicably at him.

This divertingly pleasant thought was disrupted by Aggie's slight giggle and an entirely inappropriate poke from that quarter, and I turned my head in the direction she was looking – and then nearly laughed myself.

Watson was slumped against the stair railing, to all appearances fast asleep again and beginning to snore softly. How the devil was he doing such a marvellous job of acting?

Lestrade gawped for a moment before the irritation on his face faded to a bemused smirk. "I suppose his story really is true then," he grinned, "as we both know he can't act at all. Now, _your_ story on the other hand, Mr. Holmes…Miss Aggie…"

Aggie coloured a light pink and hung once more onto my arm. To his credit, Watson never blinked an eyelash – when I fully expected him to burst into laughter at my embarrassing predicament. My own acting skills paled in comparison to his at the moment, and the thought disturbed me not a little.

Lestrade looked at the both of us for a long moment. "Is it really true, that you're marrying this woman, Holmes?" he asked finally, his tone much less antagonistic than before, more resignedly mischievous than anything else.

I gulped and looked helplessly at Aggie, who blushed a deeper magenta but finally looked the Inspector in the eye and spoke.

"I don't think so, Inspector – but he was with me at the time of the murder, I can attest to that. Marrying, though? I don't believe so," she said coyly, "you know his type, they never do want to settle down with any one girl, now do they?"

Lestrade choked on something, though I had not noticed his eating toffee or something in the cab. Strange. "_His type?_ Exactly what is _his type_, Miss Aggie?"

Aggie winked at the official with the air of a woman who knows a highly confidential (and thoroughly improper) secret. "You really want to know, love?"

The man finally swallowed whatever was choking him and shook his head so vehemently he nearly took his ear off on the wall sconce. "No! No, I _do not_ want to know. Good evening to you both. Doctor?"

Watson blinked his eyes open with sleepy slowness when I nudged him gently. "Leaving, Lestrade?" he asked brightly – far too brightly.

"Yes," the man growled, "and you'd better hope Cummings hasn't let that butler run off by the time I get back to Appledore Towers."

"What about that press conference, Lestrade?" I called after the man as he plodded down the seventeen stairs, tripping over the loose carpeting on the fifteenth.

"Holmes, I swear, if one word of any of this gets outside this house, I _will_ arrest all three of you! _And _have the conference!" he bellowed back up at me, shooting Mrs. Hudson a rather undeservingly out-of-sorts glare before slamming the front door behind him. A moment later we heard the cab drive away at a furious clip.

The instant it had, Watson's face blossomed into a grin so wide it fairly glowed at me, and Aggie gave a light little laugh of glee.

But such elation had suddenly flooded my veins in a veritable euphoria of relief that I did something that I shall ever regret and still blush to think of, for I still remain fully chagrined at how far that intense reaction had completely depleted all my reserves of self-control in that one instant of giddy triumph.

That is to say, Aggie threw her arms round my neck and I actually laughed and lifted her slim form off the ground, spinning the woman who had saved both our reputations this night in a full circle before breathlessly stopping and putting her down – the sudden realisation of what I had done splattering over my excitement like a dousing of ice water and causing me to blush all the way to my bone marrow as she giggled.

Watson's jaw was doing a fair imitation of Lestrade's wordless open-and-shut medley earlier in the evening, and I shot him a look that said _if you so much as breathe a word of this elsewhere, you will die. Painfully and slowly._

He merely grinned, his eyes dancing, and I saw him visibly swallow a burst of compulsive laughter as Mrs. Hudson gasped suddenly from behind us.

"Mr. Holmes!"

"Erm, yes, Mrs. Hudson," I began hastily, backing away from the woman's ceiling-high eyebrows, "well, you see – I can explain –"

"I do not even want to know," she retorted sternly, slapping my burglary kit into my hand with enough force to go on through the skin and bone to the floor. "I'll make you some tea, Doctor."

"Better make it coffee, Mrs. Hudson," he called ruefully after the disappearing woman, "black, and as strong as you can make it."

"May I help you, ma'am?" Aggie spoke up, and our landlady smiled and motioned for the girl to follow her down the stairs. After flashing me another sweetly happy smile, she did so, and then I turned and sat beside Watson on the steps.

"Coffee, at two in the morning?" I asked, thoroughly nonplussed by the odd request.

He turned an inestimably weary glance to me before his focus visibly dimmed, and he rubbed his head with a wince, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Are you all right, old chap?"

"Other than being scared frantic for the last two hours about you, you mean?" he asked with a long sigh, resting his head in his hand. "What the blazes happened? I thought you were right behind me, until I ran halfway across the Heath and turned back and you weren't there…"

He trailed off with a barely perceptible quiver, and I realised that, no matter how nerve-wracking the affair had been for me, it could not have been much better for my friend. I recounted to him briefly (omitting several painfully personal details, naturally) what had transpired since I had seen him last a few hours previously, and was rewarded for my storytelling efforts by a sleepy smile.

"You're extremely lucky, you do know that?"

"That Lestrade swallowed the story so easily? Yes, indeed."

"No, that your Aggie is far more forgiving than the average of her sex," he replied pointedly.

"True," I squirmed a bit uncomfortably on the hard stair – why the devil was there no padding under this carpet? – "she is anything but the average, let me tell you, Watson."

"I believe it," he rejoined with a smirk, glancing past me at Mrs. Hudson and Aggie, who were bringing a tray up the stairs containing a coffeepot and three cups.

Watson heaved himself tiredly to his feet and stumbled into the sitting room after me and the two women; and after a rather stern scolding from Mrs. Hudson to me about 'serving me right if I _did_ get arrested', the good woman finally left for some well-deserved rest and we were alone in the room.

When the door had closed behind her, I turned to see my female cohort offering a cup of coffee to my friend with a shy smile. Watson returned the smile as he accepted the drink, sinking gratefully down on the sofa, his legs propped up on the rest of the seat. I noticed his silent wince as he did so, and realised the run across the Heath in such vile weather had not been the best possible thing for his old injury.

I gestured toward my armchair (for I could be as mannerly as the next man when the fit so struck me, though it rarely did), and Aggie sat down in it, glancing from one to the other of us as if expecting a pyrotechnics display; or at the least, some rather interesting explanations.

I reached for my pipe – heaven knew I deserved a long smoke after the events of the last three hours – and then turned to my friend, who was already nodding yet again over his coffee.

"My dear chap, I must congratulate you not only upon your quick thinking but also on a spectacular performance tonight," I said finally, allowing my undisguised admiration to seep into my tone and infuse it with an atypical warmth, "you should have even taken _me_ in, had I not known it was an act."

Watson paused mid-sip to glance at me over his cup incredulously, his eyebrows rising in that peculiar manner that invariably meant I had said something either incredibly unbelievable or inexcusably rude. As I had been entirely complimentary to him, I suspected the former.

After a long drink he set the cup down on the saucer with a tiny clink and then smirked at me, running a hand through his yet-mussed hair.

"Holmes, that was no performance – we both know I cannot act to save my life were it necessary."

"That's not true, you merely –" I began to protest, for there had been times when he had been at least _passable_ when the need arose, but he interrupted me with an upraised hand.

"You needn't defend me for sake of tact, Holmes. The fact remains that I cannot act, not well enough, anyway," he said dryly.

Aggie was looking at him in some puzzlement. "But, Doctor, if you were not acting –"

"My dear young lady," Watson addressed the girl with a brief glare at me – was he pointedly reminding me that she was indeed a girl, and I had taken advantage of a woman a good ten or fifteen years younger than I? Was he really that devious or was I overly sensitive about the matter?

"I well knew that, if Holmes had been caught, then very shortly the Yard would be beating our door down looking for me as an accomplice. Knowing I could never do any good for Holmes were I arrested, I had to establish a convincing alibi in the event of something happening as just did with Lestrade."

"And convincing it was, my dear fellow," I interjected, still a bit mystified by the entire affair, "but how did you manage to pull the thing off, if you say it was not an act?"

Watson smirked, very infuriatingly and slowly, at me, taking another slow sip before removing a wadded paper packet from his dressing gown pocket and tossing it in my direction. I caught it before it went in the fire and felt my eyes widen as the links fell neatly into one perfect chain in my mind.

"You _sedated _yourself?!" I asked incredulously.

He nodded with a deal of (quite well-deserved) pride. "I knew I would never be able to sleep in the state I was in, and neither could I _feign_ sleep well enough to deceive any half-intelligent policeman, so I gave myself a good dose of a sleeping powder – hence the absolutely horrendous headache I am unfortunately battling right now," he muttered, rubbing his head again.

"But isn't that a bit risky?" Aggie gasped.

Watson smiled tolerantly. "I _am_ a Doctor, my dear."

Aggie blushed and glanced at me, but I smiled reassuringly and my friend waved her embarrassment off with his usual kindness.

"However, the stuff's meant to be taken and then slept off – not woken out of an hour after its consumption," he sighed, turning his exhausted attention to me. "I got your cufflinks from your room, cleaned that red muck off my shoes, threw my mask in the fire, primed Mrs. Hudson, and took myself off to bed, all in the space of fifteen minutes since I had arrived back at the flat."

"My dear fellow, have I ever told you that you have the makings of an absolute genius?"

He snorted with laughter, nearly spraying milky coffee everywhere, and I was quite ridiculously pleased to see his hazel eyes sparkle with a bit more life and pride at my praise than they had had previously.

"I don't believe so, no," he chortled, grinning at me from round his cup.

All through this, Aggie had been watching our interaction with ever-widening blue eyes, and now her laughter joined Watson's, blending into a perfect chord of merriment.

"Dear me, Mr. Holmes – it takes _two_ people to dig you out of trouble, doesn't it?" she chirped gaily.

"Evidently," I growled, pulling in a long draught of smoke and trying to bring my nerves back to some semblance of reality.

Watson drained his coffee cup and started to move, a silent expression of pain fading in and then out of his features, so rapidly I should have missed it had I not been watching him. I hastily reached out for the china and received a sigh of thanks as he settled back on the couch cushions, glancing at my fiancée.

"So you extricated Mr. Holmes out of the Inspector's clutches tonight, my dear?" I heard him ask as I set the cup on the table.

"Sure did, Doctor," she answered pertly, flashing me a grin, "you should've seen the poor lad's face when I said –"

"Aggie!"

Watson smirked again, glancing back at the girl as if to say _tell me later, I should very much like to hear it_. Heaven help us – help _me_! – if he ever got his story-telling teeth into the true facts of _this _tale!

Aggie moved over to the table and reached for the milk. I reflexively proffered the pitcher, and after a slight glance of surprise she allowed me to pour the drink for her with as much small gallantry as I possessed.

"Do you really think the Inspector will arrest Mr. Barrett?" she asked a bit fearfully, sipping from the cup skillfully, not spilling it though I had accidentally over-filled it to the brim with the white liquid.

"I think he will, but there is no way in British justice he could ever get a conviction," I answered absently, for I really could not care less about the infernal butler at that moment. "So please don't worry about him, Aggie."

She looked relieved and took another sip. I shifted my weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other – what now?

"Aggie, may I ask you something?" I queried hesitantly.

"Sure, Mr. Holmes," she replied, her eyes flitting nervously from my face back to the cup in her trembling hands.

I opened my mouth to ask the question that had been nagging at the back of my consciousness for quite some time now, when the silence was split by Watson's light snoring once again.

We turned to see him fast asleep, slumped exhaustedly against the back of the couch; finally having given up the fight for half-drugged consciousness, poor chap. Aggie smiled at me as I pulled the afghan off the arm of the couch and tossed it over my friend without wakening him.

"Let's not wake him, we can talk privately in my bedroom," I whispered quietly – not thinking about how that actually sounded, given the context of the majority of our conversation of the evening…

I had already begun to blush (it was becoming a rather upsetting habit in her company by this point) when she giggled in a confidential whisper. "Mr. Holmes, honestly, you're not as much of a gentleman as I thought!"

"Aggie!"

Thank heaven Watson was asleep, I should never have heard the end of _that_. She laughed softly and followed me into the room – I left the door open_, wide open_ – and she sat on the bed while I took a chair.

"What was it you wanted to ask me?"

"What made you…decide to help me tonight?" I asked soberly. "We both know I should have deserved nothing less than I would have gotten had you not chosen to aid me."

Aggie looked at me for a moment in silence. "I was still deciding whether or not to help you even when you started to talk your way out of it," she said finally, her blue eyes flashing a cool blaze over me, "I actually hated you for a few minutes there."

"I wouldn't have blamed you," I admitted reluctantly, feeling more embarrassed than I really should have – it was all in my duty to a client, after all, and I should not be feeling so guilty over the deception…

"But I decided to help you when I saw you were willin' to go to jail to keep your friend out of the mess you'd made," she finished, glancing up at me, her eyes glimmering softly in the gaslight.

I was somewhat startled, for I had not been expecting that.

"Thank you," were (quite surprisingly) the first words out of my mouth.

She nodded, shifting nervously on the bed and glancing uncertainly up at me.

"Aggie," I began uneasily, fidgeting with my cufflinks and trying to decide the best way to phrase this – how I wished I had Watson's gift of words just then!

Though considering his romantic bent, perhaps that was just as well with the present company…

"What is it?" she asked softly.

"I wish – I wish I could tell you that I am sorry, but…I really cannot," I said directly, cutting without mercy through the preliminaries, for there had been far too much subterfuge in this affair already. "I had a duty to a client, and I cannot say that I am sorry for carrying that out."

She nodded instantly, though I saw hurt well up in those large blue eyes before she turned her head away sadly.

"But…I _am_ sorry that you happened to be the one I practised the deception on, Aggie," I said quietly, "I truly wish it had been some other, less…undeserving person."

_Where had _that_ come from?_

Aggie glanced up at me with a watery smile. "I suppose I could take that as a compliment, though a mighty awkward one," she whispered.

"What are you going to do now?" I asked softly, sitting beside her on my bed gingerly – and at a safe distance.

"I – I don't know," she whispered shakily, twisting her fingers together, the enormity of the night's events evidently just now sinking in. "I've no place now, I don't know –"

"If you like," I began hesitantly, "I – I have contacts, I could find you something somewhere."

She gave me a slightly skeptical look.

"I mean it – it's the least I could do, after what you've done tonight. You deserve better than that, Aggie," I said, and for once in my life I was speaking something to this woman that totally and completely true.

"Was it all just a game to you, Mr. Holmes?" she asked wistfully, running a slender, work-worn finger along the pattern of my coverlet, "was it all just playacting to you, every bit of it?"

I gulped at the choice lying before me. Truth, or lying yet again? Surely truthfulness was the better recourse now, no matter how uncomfortable said truth might be to me.

"No," I said slowly, wishing to heaven the entire thing had never, never, never happened, "not all of it, Aggie."

She gave a short snort of a laugh before scooting closer to me. To my eternal chagrin, I did not move away when I had the chance.

"And I do wish there had been some other way," I said truthfully, endeavouring to swim out of the murkiness I was treading water in at this very uncomfortable moment in the evening's conversation.

She sighed, playing with her fingers, twisting and wiggling them nervously in her lap before lacing them together with an air of finality. Then she turned to me and, so rapidly I had not the time to scramble away and off the bed, she kissed me again, just a quick brush on the cheek.

This time, I found I did not blush or cringe or even shrink away…that was rather odd.

However, this interesting fact was driven from my mind by a combination gasp and yelp from the open doorway.

Aggie and I both jerked our heads round in time to hear a fervent, sleep-slurred apology before Watson stumbled backward as if he had seen us being entirely indecent rather than just the girl ridiculously kissing me. My friend hastily headed for the coffeepot once more, muttering something as he went that sounded like _'what the blazes was in that sleeping powder?'_.

I moaned (_perfect timing as usual with your blundering, Watson!)_, but Aggie merely giggled. "The poor man probably thinks he's hallucinating."

"Hopefully he'll be too drugged to remember that scene in the morning," I muttered with a scowl, fervently praying it would be so.

But a moment later the hilarity of the situation finally broke through my wall of irritation and I was laughing aloud along with my companion.

"Aggie, I will find you something – my brother works for the government, perhaps they have some custodial position or such open, would you care for that?" I asked seriously at last.

The girl nodded gratefully, wiping her eyes from her laughter. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes."

"No," I said quietly, all traces of my amusement gone in the face of a realisation of exactly what I owed this woman, "thank you – for everything you did tonight. I'd be in jail right now were it not for your help. I still cannot understand or even begin to fathom why you would aid me."

"Mr. Holmes. You are not the only one who can be loyal to someone you care for," was the whispered response.

Loyalty – yet another emotion I had yet to master, or even consciously practice. I should attempt to learn better in future.

For, I reflected as I looked with something nearer to respect than I had ever felt before toward a woman besides Mrs. Irene Norton – the next time I might not be so lucky, and the person I deceived not so loyal as my dear Aggie was.

_Lesson learned_, I thought ruefully, as I smiled, genuinely at long last, at the very extraordinary girl sitting beside me.

She winked at me, and I found myself blushing once again, for a slightly different reason this time.


End file.
